


Pursuing Wellbeing Through Meditation, Exercise, and Worship

by SolarPoweredFlashlight



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Consensual Kink, Dom/sub Play, F/F, Objectification, Rope Bondage, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 14:57:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16874973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarPoweredFlashlight/pseuds/SolarPoweredFlashlight
Summary: Shiala has been entangled in a relationship with Matriarchs Benezia and Aethyta for a decade now, and even after ten years they still manage to surprise each other. Although they take turns taking charge, Shiala brings a certain special caretaking approach when she steps into that role; her lovers are deeply appreciative of the thoughtfulness and attentiveness she brings to the bedroom, and make a point to express that appreciation.





	1. Meditation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CourierNinetyTwo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourierNinetyTwo/gifts).



> This piece is an ode to the relationship elegantly constructed by CourierNintetyTwo in their incredible fanfic "Trinity"; my deep thanks go to them not only for writing the piece that inspired this one but also for all of the brainstorming and beta work that went into the genesis of this fanfiction. If you liked this and haven't read their work yet, I highly suggest you go and do so.

**Part One**

**Meditation**

  
  


Shiala is, and has always been, fun to fluster. She’s a creature defined by structure; the structure of a hierarchy, of a schedule, of a blueprint, of a plan.

 

The structure of an ancient fighting stance, a technique honed and mastered and implemented flawlessly. The structure of flowing lines of muscle pulled taut, relaxed out of discipline in preparation for a strategic burst, and not out of true ease or comfort. 

 

So perhaps, then, Benezia can be forgiven for being surprised at Shiala’s unique talent for gently disassembling the tensions of the mind and body in another person. And that, in true Shiala fashion, she uses structure as her tool for soothing. 

 

Benezia loves Aethyta, undeniably and immeasurably, but there are things that can’t be fixed with sparring, tensions that can’t be purged with a rough fucking, discomforts that can’t be dispelled with a crude joke. In moments - fleeting moments she is not proud of - Benezia is a little embarrassed to be finding this almost spiritual solace in the arms of a matron so much younger than herself. 

 

But Shiala’s wisdom is not archival, not intellectual. It is physical and mental both, yes. Benezia thinks if she had to make a comparison, a distinction, she would say that the way Shiala draws the aches of her lovers to the surface and gently excises them is less the work of a knowledgeable surgeon with a skilled scalpel and more the work of a sculptor crafting intuitively with wood, carefully shaving away hard edges to bring out natural patterns and rhythms and beauty by feel alone. 

 

The intimacy of giving Shiala that burden, after all the burdens of her wellbeing she already takes on professionally, is one that Benezia does not take lightly. Yet Shiala comes to it willingly, lovingly, and with an earnestness that reassures Benezia it is not merely a dynamic of “she who gives comfort” and “she who receives comfort”. 

 

“Come,” Shiala says, and when she uses that special tone of voice, the tone she would never use in Benezia’s direction when witnesses were present, a pleasant ripple of helplessness whispers its way through Benezia’s limbs. It’s a threat and a promise both, and when she passes through into the bedroom she finds it’s also a relief to know that tonight Shiala finds herself wanting to take ownership of that particular mantle. As she crosses the threshold, Aethyta rubs a hand against the small of her back, leans in for a kiss even as she guides Benezia into the privacy of their room. Shiala shuts the door behind her as she enters, and for a brief moment both of Benezia’s lovers have a hand each on her hip. 

 

Her heart always flutters, even now a decade into their interwoven relationship, when she finds herself flanked on either side by Aethyta and Shiala. It’s pure wanton pleasure, to be physically framed by the pair of warriors, especially when they each place a light touch of reassurance and affection upon her body like this. 

 

“You’ve got the look of someone with a plan,” Aethyta says to Shiala, her voice low with suggestiveness and lilting with approval. 

 

“If you’re amenable,” Shiala says, eyes dancing from Aethyta to Benezia, hand flitting up from waist to cheek, caressing Benezia’s face ever so softly, “I’m thinking it will be Captain, tonight.” Benezia hums her agreement with this suggestion and tilts her head into the touch. She’s had a rough week - a rough month, really - and this is exactly what she needs. 

 

“That sounds lovely,” Benezia says. It’s taken some time for Shiala to truly come into her own as part of the dynamic with the three of them, but the confidence she wears across her strong shoulders and the self-assurance of her voice has grown to something that Benezia feels entirely comfortable leaning on now. 

 

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Aethyta says, pressing a lingering kiss to Shiala’s lips. Benezia still loves watching them kiss. When this first started, she could never have dared to hope that the two of them would develop a desire and affection for one another in their own right. “I’ll join in, in a bit. I think I’ll have a quick shower while you’re getting started.” Prickles of anticipation rush up Benezia’s arms.  _ Getting started _ . She can’t wait to get started. 

 

Although she misses her bondmate’s touch when Aethyta pulls away and heads for the bathroom, Shiala provides sufficient distraction with a brush of fingers at the nape of her neck. Her fingertips brush ever so gently against sensitive ridges, and Benezia shudders. 

 

“Shall we?” Shiala asks.

 

“Yes, Captain,” Benezia purrs, still a little too composed and in control to manage saying it without a salacious curl to the title. She watches with pleasure as Shiala’s mouth turns upwards into a little smirk, provoked to a slightly more domineering posture; in an instant, the hand on the back of her neck is rough and demanding, and a jolt of arousal follows the path of her spine down to between her legs. 

 

“Behave yourself, Benezia,” Shiala says, and hearing her name on those lips, those deeply personal syllables handled with the same rough familiarity as the back of her neck, is an even sharper stab of pleasure. Already, she can feel that composure beginning to slip. 

 

“Yes, Captain,” she breathes, with a little more sincerity, and immediately feels the touch of Shiala’s hand shift back to soft and affectionate. There’s peace in the simplicity of obedience. Do as you’re told, no more, no less, and nothing else will be expected of you. Shiala leads her further into the room and stops her at the foot of the bed. Benezia hears the sound of the shower turning on, tries not to let the thought distract her. Shiala’s hands find the clasps of her clothing and slowly, patiently begin to undo them. She places a kiss between Benezia’s shoulder blades with infinite tenderness as she disrobes her. 

 

“That’s good,” she whispers against Benezia’s skin, “just relax.” And Benezia does, just a little, drop by drop. Like Aethyta, Shiala can be rough and demanding and physical, when she takes charge - but this is a special side of Shiala. Benezia feels uniquely privileged to experience it. 

 

With steady, deliberate hands, Shiala draws away each piece of clothing.

 

“Breathe,” she murmurs lovingly against Benezia’s cheek, and Benezia has no choice but to obey, to focus on the steady in and out of her breathing. The process is slow and ritualistic, undeniably arousing but also, somehow, not necessarily explicitly sexual. Naked, Benezia can only swallow and wait for further instructions. 

 

Shiala crosses the room and retrieves a large pillow, several lengths of rope, and a blindfold from a subtle cabinet. Benezia almost wants to laugh at the irony of being at Shiala’s mercy in this circumstance, at the swagger of her step and the easy way she holds the items, especially the rope. The irony being, of course, that Shiala had never experienced rope as a sexual item before becoming entangled with Benezia and Aethyta, and certainly not to the degree of complexity that Benezia liked using it. 

 

Shiala proved an adept acolyte with the rope. From the first tightening cinch of custom, silky-soft cord around Shiala’s ribcage, Benezia had known she’d found a lover who would delight in the material as much as she did. Shiala’s eyes had fluttered shut of their own accord as Benezia worked, her mind falling into that deep space where her slow, heavy breathing made it clear she was enjoying herself. By the time Benezia had finished, Shiala’s thighs were slick, her eyes pitch black with naked arousal. It was a sight Benezia had burned into her memory; thrilling, flattering, stunning. Aethyta found ropework tedious if she wasn’t getting teased and touched the entire time, and was disinclined to practice it herself on Benezia. But Shiala.

 

Oh, Shiala very clearly loved exploring the places she could take Benezia with rope. 

 

“Come here and kneel for me, love,” Shiala says now, indicating the pillow she’s placed on the floor. Benezia does as she’s told, lowering herself down. “Sit up straight,” Shiala corrects, almost immediately, and Benezia exhales hard at the ruthless repositioning the matron subjects her to. Just a little bit more of her mind slips away, and again, as soon as she’s the way Shiala wants her, the touches become kind and adoring. “Good,” Shiala murmurs again. “Breathe out. Let the tension you’re holding in your jaw out. That’s it.”

 

It’s like guided meditation, Benezia muses, watching Shiala rise to retrieve the blindfold, except with more nudity and bondage. Now, there’s nothing a length of rope can accomplish that a well-placed biotic energy field couldn’t do better, in terms of restraining someone, but there’s more to rope than just restraint. There’s the steady increase in resistance against the natural rise and fall of one’s body, the texture of the rope, the indulgence of revelling in your partner’s skill and artistry. 

 

Shiala brings the blindfold to Benezia’s face, wraps it around her head with a deliberate brush against the easily stimulated undersides of her crests. Benezia gasps, and Shiala touches light fingertips to her chin in unspoken reply. The blindfold comes tight, and the room falls away. 

 

“Any light coming through?” Shiala asks. 

 

“No, Captain,” Benezia says, and she can hear in her own voice how much of the pride and self-control and measured elegance she started the evening with has already been worn away. She must really need this.

 

“Good,” Shiala says, and Benezia can feel the warmth of the word against her lips. Then Shiala kisses her, firm and tender, stroking Benezia’s cheek with her thumb. “Ready?” She asks, when she pulls away. 

 

“Yes, Captain.” 

 

The warmth of Shiala’s body leaves her but momentarily, and when she feels the whisper of the rope against her skin it feels like the opening notes of a hymn. Fingers navigate her breasts, graze her nipples. Rope comes tight around her torso, loop by loop. The blindfold makes everything into an experience of sensations, freeing her from the intellectual sphere. 

 

And all the while Shiala murmurs gentle commands:

 

“Focus on your breathing. Whatever you’re worried about, imagine yourself taking it from your mind and giving it to me.” The soft hiss of rope being pulled against her skin, the light pressure as it comes tight, steadily climbing her body. “I forbid you from thinking. That’s my job now. Your only job is to obey.” 

 

Shiala checks in regularily, as she’s building her fibrous cage.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

“Good, Captain.” 

 

And the reward of a kiss to her shoulder, her neck, her breastbone, her thigh - it seems random, and with the blindfold there’s no way to anticipate the placement. 

 

It’s a blissful release, but it does take some work to dismantle everything inside of Benezia’s mind. One of the biggest hurdles, the question of whether she truly ought to be doing this - surrendering herself completely to the care of a younger asari, the great and respected Matriarch Benezia prostrating herself in worship of a soldier’s firm hands and firm voice. Shiala knows already the multitudes of the layers in Benezia’s mind, knows already the length of this journey. It doesn’t dissuade Shiala from gently peeling back those layers when she can see the needy ache at Benezia’s core. 

 

Even at the very beginning, during the first year of the relationship, Shiala seemed to revel in the discovery that she could quietly slide her way through Benezia’s defenses and impact her mental state using only words and touch. 

 

When it started, there wasn’t rope or blindfolds or titles of authority.

 

The three of them had been lounging, post-coitus, and Benezia had been especially dazzled in the afterglow of being ravished by her bondmate and her lover. She’d been resting her head on Shiala’s sternum, one arm slung around her waist, with Aethyta pressed against her back. A moment of perfect bliss, of floating relaxation. 

 

Shiala had started trailing her fingers along Benezia’s face, tracing brow and cheekbone and chin. When those fingers reached Benezia’s lips, she kissed them in welcome. 

 

“More?” Benezia asked, still half lost in the daze of her orgasm. 

 

“Not yet,” Shiala whispered, voice full of soft certainty. “Just relax and enjoy what you’re feeling right now.” At this direction, Benezia found herself smiling like a fool. She pressed her forehead to Shiala’s clammy chest, and basked in the lingering feeling that she was floating. Behind her, Aethyta pressed a gentle kiss to her shoulder. 

 

“Good,” Aethyta murmured, a low rumble of affirmation. “That’s good.” Whether the pair of them had acted on instinct, speaking the words that felt right, it served to send Benezia to a plane of loose and easy freedom from thought. She felt simultaneously anchored by their presences and like she was drifting aimlessly above their bodies. More than anything else, she felt  _ safe.  _

 

They’d talked about it later; they’d already gotten into the habit of regular debriefings after new experiences, of which there were many in that first year. It was this habit of communication that had kept the three of them fulfilled and honest in spite of the added complexity of bringing in a third.

 

And this was how Shiala first learned that she could, with the right build-up,  _ order _ the stress from Benezia’s mind, at least for a little while. 

 

“Come out of your head,” Shiala commands, tugging sharply on the network of ropes across the front of Benezia’s chest. Benezia gasps, ripped from the recollection and back into the present. “You are mine,” Shiana murmurs, forcefully manipulating Benezia’s body once more into appropriate posture, shoulders back, chin up. “Your body is mine. Your mind is mine. Your thoughts belong to me, not you.” She says the words with a smooth calm: a mantra, inexorable and inarguable. “Breathe, love. Just breathe, and nothing else.” Benezia swallows hard, sinks into her body, into her limbs. She inhales deeply, and the expansion of her chest fills the limits of the rope, bringing the harness tight. At the peak of her inhale, there is just the barest of bite to the resistance against her skin. It’s gloriously physical, real and inescapable.

 

“That’s it,” Shiala murmurs, and kisses her forehead. “There is nothing but my voice. There is nothing but my touch. You will do nothing but what I tell you to.” 

 

At this point, Benezia has lost her voice. The ability to form words seems difficult, too difficult, and anyways she hasn’t been told to speak, so she doesn’t need to. 

 

“Good,” Shiala says, and the rope work resumes. Benezia loses herself further to the sensation, swaying in small ways with the push and pull of Shiala’s progress, feeling for all the world like a banner being tossed by a light breeze. Behind her back, her arms are bound together and tied firmly in place. Rope outlines her breasts from above, below, between. And now, finally, she feels the loop come taut, and the rope between her thighs pulls tight, threaded through her folds and delivering friction directly to her clit. A breathy keen erupts from her lips unbidden. 

 

“Don’t fight the feeling,” Shiala orders, voice husky. “Give in to it. There is nothing but what you feel, nothing but what I say.” The rope gets tighter, and Benezia cries out. She feels so sensitive. Her legs begin to shudder under her. Her every breath makes the rope shift against her, brings another little cresting wave of sensation. “Good,” Shiala murmurs. Calloused fingers ghost lightly across Benezia’s sternum, following the perfect line of one of the ropes, and she inhales a deep, shaky breath. 

 

“Goddess, she’s beautiful,” Benezia hears Aethyta say, from across the room. Her voice is rough, low, and reverent; Benezia’s hard-won breath escapes her again in a staggered huff at the depth of the emotion in Aethyta’s words. 

 

“Isn’t she just?” Shiala says, and the words are like a fine aged wine, sweet and heady and filling Benezia’s body with warmth. She feels Shiala take her chin in one hand, tilting her face up just so. Straightening her posture makes the rope between her legs shift, rubbing torturously just so against her, and she whimpers. “So very beautiful. Such a good girl for me.” Shiala strokes her face, chases the movement of a heavy swallow down Benezia’s throat with a barely-there brush of her knuckles. She places those knuckles lightly against Benezia’s lips, and whispers: “Kiss.” Without hesitation, Benezia follows the soft-spoken order and presses a kiss to Shiala’s strong, roughened hand. “Good girl, Benezia.” 

 

This use of her name is luxurious with intimacy, pulling her deeper under the waters of her willing submission. Her breathing picks up, as if she’s being touched and teased, but they’re words - only words. 

 

“Hold still now,” Shiala says, “be good and just relax. Just let go.” Benezia might say  _ Yes, Captain, _ if she weren’t lost at sea in the blissful floating darkness and the firm embrace of the rope. Shiala doesn’t press her for an affirmation, but soon there are hands on her, wonderful sturdy hands that grasp and caress and explore without reservation. It takes a moment, in her state of dazed pleasure, for Benezia to realize that with a hand on her throat, a hand on her breast, a hand on her thigh, a hand on her lower back, that Aethyta must have joined in. 

 

Fingers serve as scouts ahead of the palm, the first small tender touches to one part of her body before it’s enveloped in a warm grasp. Sometimes the hold comes tight, the light, curious fingertips become five points of bruising pain in a brutal grip that makes her whimper, makes her flinch - makes her move enough for the rope tight against her clit to slide against her with emotionless precision. Each release from these encroaching grabs leaves her gasping and quivering, and then the hands become soft and sweet again. 

 

At some point, with unspoken agreement, her lovers pin her in place with a hand on each thigh and take to feather-light touches of her breasts. Benezia licks her lips and and furrows her brows and can do nothing, nothing, nothing but react, nothing but experience this divine torture. Both of her nipples are wrapped in a whisperingly gentle clasp between a thumb and forefinger, stimulated with cruel restraint. 

 

She’s begging, she knows, as whispered words flow from her lips like a flock of birds taking flight.  _ Please, oh, Captain, oh, Shiala, oh, Aethyta, please, please, please.  _

 

“Shh,” Shiala says, and the light touches against her nipples don’t slow, don’t speed up, just remain horribly, horribly gentle. “Don’t fight it. Just take what you’re given.” Benezia lets out a long, needy exhale, dizzied by the slow but inescapable approach of pleasure. It seems to go on forever, until eventually the hands drop, and oh - oh, the lack of the stimulation is somehow even worse than having only the barest sensations. She feels a comforting kiss pressed to her forehead, a balm to her dismay. 

 

“I’m going to put the headphones on,” Shiala says then, cool and procedural underneath the warm sunlit layer of her affection. “You won’t be able to hear me, but if you need to stop you can speak and I’ll hear you. Is that going to be okay?” 

 

Words are difficult, so Benezia only nods. 

 

“Alright. Remember, I’m right here, I won’t leave your side, and if you need to stop just say so.” Shiala presses a kiss to her temple, and then she feels the hard light headphones settle comfortably in place. It’s music, steady and thumping. She no longer has the processing power to think too hard about what kind of music it is. All she knows is that she cannot see her surroundings, cannot hear her surroundings, cannot move.

 

Truly, all there is left for her to do is to breathe, and to  _ feel _ . It’s the ultimate release.

 

Shiala places a hand on either side of Benezia’s hips, and she feels herself being enveloped by the tingle of biotics. Trusting her partner with her body in the most complete way possible, Benezia relaxes into the grasp of the biotics as they lift her up and off the floor. She even tries to maintain the correct posture mid-air, keeping her legs tucked underneath herself, because this is a thing she’s been told to do. In the dark with the music enveloping her hearing, she has no idea where she’s going, how high in the air she is - all she knows is she was on the ground, and now she is not. 

 

Her knees come into contact with something soft. The biotics gently transition her weight over to the grasp of gravity, and the yielding mattress eases underneath of her.  _ Bed _ , is about all she can think, and then there’s a warm firm body against her back. She melts into the embrace, but the movement of her torso moves the rope between her legs, playing a long note of friction against her clit and entrance both. She feels the cry leave her lips, but can’t even hear her own voice. Strong arms wrap around her waist. Held this way from behind, she’s already trembling. In front of her, she feels the mattress give to a new weight. A second set of hands find her breasts, and she cries out again.  _ Please _ , she thinks she’s saying, but can’t hear the word to confirm she’s remembered how to form it with her mouth. 

 

The lover at her back takes hold of the ropes, trapping her there, as the lover at her front wraps one of her nipples with a warm mouth. Benezia can  _ feel _ the noises leaving her throat, but in contrast with the sensations of the rope tight around her body, the friction between her legs, the mouth on her breast, she pays it little attention. The mouth leaves her nipple, and she jumps against her restraints with shock when it reappears at her inner thigh. She squirms as the bite grows ruthless, the suction painful, but strong fingers wrap themselves around her leg just above the knee. She jerks involuntarily at the neverending pain of the branding, and the movement works the rope against her clit, and before she can truly process any of what’s happening, the trembling is shaking in earnest, and she’s coming, coming, coming to the feeling of teeth at her thigh and rough hands gripping her harness and that damn length of rope tight against her vulva.

 

The world goes white. 

 

She feels like the shaking will last forever, the sharp pain of the bite will last forever, the casing of rope will hold her and torment her forever. 

 

Her orgasm crescendos as she accepts the feeling as her new master, helpless to stop the sensation. There is nothing but the feeling. No sight. No sound. Only this endless, all-encompassing ecstasy. 

 

When finally the intensity subsides, she exists just enough again to perceive that the rope is coming loose around her. The headphones are dismissed out of existence, and somebody kisses her sweaty brow. 

 

“How do you feel, love?” Aethyta murmurs from behind her. 

 

“Mmmmm,” is about all Benezia can articulate, but she does her best to fill the sound with positive connotation. 

 

“Yeah?” Aethyta chuckles. Benezia feels a rough hand take hers, rub her knuckles lovingly. Ah, her arms are free now. 

 

“Lean forward,” Shiala says, from in front of her, and Benezia obeys and feels the loosened rope begin to pull away and leave her body. It almost feels like losing a friend. “That’s good,” Shiala says, always quick to reassure her when she’s in this state, and Benezia doesn’t try to stop the smile that blossoms across her face when Shiala kisses her forehead. “You were very good. Are you ready to take the blindfold off?”

 

Benezia shakes her head. She likes the blindfold, the comfort and safety it brings, and she wants to stay drifting in this incorporeal world a little longer. 

 

“Alright,” Shiala says softly, understanding without needing any explanation. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

 

“Where?” Benezia croaks, burrowing into the safety of Aethyta’s arms but still longing for Shiala to stay just a little longer. 

 

“To get you a glass of water,” Shiala says, and then, with a throaty little laugh, “and to get a towel. I promise I’ll be right back.”

 

“And I’m here,” Aethyta murmurs, warm and close and solid and strong. 

 

“I love you,” Benezia whispers to Aethyta, stripped raw and vulnerable, her guard completely down if only for a little while.

 

“Love you too, Nezzy,” Aethyta says, kissing the back of Benezia’s neck.  “See, she’s back already. Sit up, sweetheart, so you can drink some water.” Softened and compliant by the evening’s treatments, Benezia sits up in bed and only jumps a little when Shiala’s hands come to her face. 

 

“I’m going to take the blindfold off now so you can drink without spilling all over yourself,” Shiala says. Benezia resists the urge to whine. 

 

“Alright,” she says. When the blindfold comes off, she has to blink in shock at the brightness of the world, even though the lights are all off. She takes the glass of water Shiala hands her and gratefully chugs down the offering. The way Shiala waits on her, gently taking the empty glass away as soon as she’s finished with it, only serves to draw out the pleasant hum inside of her that only comes from scenes like these. 

 

Shiala returns with the towel.

 

“Hips up,” she says, laughter in her eyes. 

 

Benezia and Aethyta look down at the mattress, where there is a large dark circle that wasn’t there before. 

 

“That good, huh?” Aethyta growls playfully. Benezia can only blush.

 

“Yes,” she says, pulling Shiala into their pile and kissing her soundly. “That good.” 


	2. Exercise

**Part Two**

**Exercise**

 

It’s never certain who’ll win when Aethyta and Shiala take to the mats and spar. That’s fine. Aethyta likes it better that way. 

 

Sweat rolls down her back along the divot of her spine as she tries to slow her breathing and find her stance again. They’ve been going all afternoon, round after round, and it’s lasted long enough that the rest of the gym rats who train with Shiala have gotten bored and vanished. 

 

If Aethyta had thought idly wandering in after Shiala was done with a two hour workout and challenging her to a fight would give her an advantage, she was wrong. 

 

Not that her goal had been to win, exactly. There’s just something about seeing the young Captain pumping iron that makes Aethyta’s skin tingle with the desire to test her own strength against her, win or lose. 

 

The first round is all bravado and swagger, flashing smirks and flashing fists. The others linger after they’ve finished their workouts to watch and egg them on. 

 

The second round is a settled seriousness, expressions grim and strikes earnest. 

 

The third is playful, teasing - strategic circling, taunting, psych-outs. They conserve their energy for bursts of carefully placed attacks. 

 

The fourth is hungry, animalistic. Grunting, sweating, boxing each other into corners. Their audience realizes this conflict won’t be resolved any time soon - won’t be resolved in the gym anyway - and slips away to find better entertainment. 

 

And now the fifth begins, and Aethyta is exhausted but filled to the brim with adrenaline and determination. Shiala dances before her, tired too but pretending not to be.  Aethyta’s core burns with the desire to launch and connect, to push Shiala further and further and find her breaking point, to claim victory. 

 

They haven’t spoken since the third round now - at least, not with their mouths. As knuckles kiss flesh, forearms block and batter away strikes, soles of feet whisper against the mats, they banter with a much older form of language. 

 

Aethyta tries to center herself. If she thinks too much, she’ll just get distracted, and sparring distracted isn’t giving Shiala the respect she deserves as a fighter. Her whole body thrums in time with each heartbeat, the promise of her biotics curl somewhere inside of her, reflexively ready to launch even if she has no intention of using them in a friendly match. It’s a steady pulse, a beat of percussion she fights along to. 

 

“Tired, matriarch?” Shiala asks, eyes alight with friendly competitiveness, body loose and languid. Her posture and tone promise aggression - the kind that makes Aethyta’s body answer with ravenous eagerness to answer the challenge. 

 

“Just getting started,” Aethyta grunts, then feints to one side, skips forward to deliver a quick kick. Shiala’s foot flies up in counterpoint, a fierce whack against the inside of Aethyta’s incoming leg that deflects the strike neatly. Before Aethyta can react, Shiala’s slipped in close. Her right arm darts forward and diverts Aethyta’s block, her left stabs through the newly created hole. Aethyta’s blood surges with a reaction, but too late - Shiala’s hooked one leg around hers, calf to calf and thigh to thigh, and that left arm has her by the shoulder. All it takes is one smooth pivot from the ex-commando and Aethyta is falling. 

 

Well, damn her, if Aethyta’s going to fall she’s taking Shiala with her. She gets a grab on her at the last second, and when she hits the mats Shiala does too. 

 

Prepared to call it an end to the round, Aethyta’s mouth has just opened to start to form the words when she feels Shiala’s thigh between hers, sees the darkness start to touch her eyes. This isn’t sparring anymore. This is something wholly different, and Aethyta’s stomach does a little flip at the position she’s in, at the masterful way Shiala has dropped her and used it to get her into - 

 

“Fuck,” Aethyta groans as Shiala pins her. She moves to flip the younger asari off of her - it’s only fair, after all, for each of them to press whatever advantages might present themselves - but can’t find the leverage she needs. So they stay there, both panting a little, held in place, in perfect stillness, pressed together after five rounds of sparring. Aethyta looks up at Shiala, breathes deep, and feels her own desire filling her up as easily as she fills her lungs with air.  She cranes her neck forward to kiss Shiala, but her rough movement gets her nowhere as Shiala pulls back and keeps her pinned. 

 

Aethyta is briefly thrown - she couldn’t be mistaken about Shiala’s intentions, could she? 

 

But no, now she’s smirking, and Aethyta relaxes a little at the sight of it. Damn her, when did she get so cocky? Shiala’s hand slides around Aethyta’s thigh, going almost idly from hip to knee. No, her intentions seem pretty clear. 

 

“I think you could use a post-workout stretch,” Shiala says then, and something wicked is in her face. Aethyta feels that wandering hand smoothly hook below her knee at the back of her calf. Then Shiala moves position so swiftly that in an instant she’s got Aethyta in a hold she can’t escape, has pushed her left leg up into a bend, has her right leg trapped against the mats. 

 

“Oh, you fucking asshole,” Aethyta growls as Shiala uses her body weight to push the bent leg in towards Aethyta’s body, pressing her knee up towards her chest. Aethyta squirms, but there’s no evading Shiala’s iron grip, no stopping the low, almost pleasant pain of the stretch. 

 

“You’ve got lazy glutes,” Shiala purrs against her face, and it’s all Aethyta can do not to whimper. “Shh. Just relax into it. Remember to breathe.”

 

“Fuck you,” Aethyta whispers, fighting her, trying to kick her off. Goddess, how can she be both so flexible and so strong? The pain is incredible. Aethyta  _ could _ blast Shiala off of her with her biotics, but… that would be cheating, now wouldn’t it?

 

“Relax,” Shiala commands a second time, and after a few more seconds of resisting the inexorable press of the matron’s body weight, Aethyta lets out a strained huff and allows her body to go limp. “Good,” Shiala says, feeling it immediately. “I knew you could do it.”

 

“Ffffuck you,” Aethyta groans, as Shiala presses down even harder, pushes the stretch further now that Aethyta’s released the tension. It hurts in the best possible way, but it still fucking  _ hurts _ . 

 

“Breathe in,” Shiala murmurs, “nice and deep for me.” There’s a tight thrum inside of Aethyta that has nothing to do with her muscles, a part of her answering viscerally to the calm, smooth authority of Shiala’s voice. Aethyta’s shaking as she breathes in. “Good. Now breathe out, all the way.” And then as she breathes out, Shiala presses the stretch just a little further.

 

“ _ Fuck _ , it hurts,” Aethyta says, only a little embarrassed at the whinging tone in her normally strong, confident voice. 

 

“Just relax,” Shiala says, like it’s so easy. But she tries, she tries to relax because there’s no sense in making it hurt more than it has to. 

 

“I’m going to black your eye for this,” Aethyta groans. 

 

“You can try,” Shiala chuckles, and then as Aethyta is processing that wildly arousing shit-talk she guides Aethyta’s leg back down to the mat without giving up her hold. “Other leg now,” she says.

 

“You can try,” Aethyta echoes, going for a quick flip when Shiala makes to redistribute her weight to take hold of the other leg. Aethyta pushes off with her heel and engages her core with a burst of energy, but like lightning Shiala contorts herself to absorb the move and then uses her body weight to pin Aethyta back down almost instantly. 

 

“Good attempt,” Shiala chuckles. “Next time don’t telegraph so much.” Aethyta writhes against her, desperate to hit her, to kiss her, to bite her,  _ anything _ . Shiala only smiles and keeps her trapped. 

 

“How the fuck are you so  _ flexible _ ,” Aethyta grunts. She tenses up again when she feels Shiala’s hand under her other leg’s thigh, slightly towards her knee. Shiala looks down at her with an admonishing raise of her eyebrows. 

 

“Don’t fight me,” she says, “ _ relax. _ ” To this, Aethyta can only swallow heavily and shut her eyes and wince as the leg comes up. Shiala presses her into the stretch with surprising gentleness, but it still hurts as she drives Aethyta carefully and attentively to her limits. “Breathe in,” she says. “And out.”

 

“Fuck you,” Aethyta says on the exhale, and then Shiala’s pushing the stretch further. “Fuck!” 

 

“Are you ready to give in yet?” 

 

“I’m going to pin you down and make you come so hard you forget your own name,” Aethyta growls, with a fresh burst of struggling. Infuriatingly, Shiala only grins and holds her in place. A decade ago that might have worked - hell, even half a decade ago the filthy promise might have startled Shiala enough to throw her. Apparently she’s gotten used to Aethyta’s mouth. 

 

“Your hip flexors are really tight,” she remarks, as if Aethyta hasn’t said anything of note. Aethyta opens her mouth, not sure what her retort will be but ready to deliver it, but is lost again to yelling as Shiala presses her knee up towards her chest. She pushes and holds, murmurs softly for Aethyta to relax, and eventually - with a frustrated keen - the matriarch does as she’s told. “Good,” Shiala praises, and there’s no denying the little thrill that dances up and down from gut to groin at the word. 

 

“I’m starting to think you might be a sadist,” Aethyta mutters, when Shiala pulls away just enough to settle her leg back on the mat. Shiala laughs. 

 

“You realize that makes you a masochist, you know,” she says, entirely matter-of-factly except for the encroaching black in her eyes that betrays her arousal. “I’m going to flip you onto your front so I can stretch out your shoulders. You can try to fight me if you want,” Shiala says, with another little smile and raise of her eyebrows, “but I promise it won’t go the way you want it to.” Aethyta has to suppress a shudder. She’s almost proud of Shiala, for developing this confidence. Not in her own martial abilities - Shiala’s always been confident about those, and rightly so - but in the roles she feels she’s allowed to occupy in the bedroom, in the dynamics she finds herself wanting to try on for size. This pushy Shiala is the result of years of building trust and understanding between the two of them. 

 

“You know I have to at least try,” Aethyta says, with her own grin up at her. 

 

“I know,” Shiala says, and doesn’t sound unhappy about it in the slightest. She leans in and at long last kisses Aethyta, a slow, smoldering kiss that ends entirely too soon. Aethyta braces for the flip, and when Shiala goes for it she makes her lover work for it. They wrestle in earnest, a sweaty mess of limbs, grabbing and twisting and pushing and grunting, and Aethyta almost manages to get the upper hand. Almost. 

 

But then her chest slams hard against the mats and Shiala takes a triumphant seat on her back. They both take a moment to catch their breath - a testament to the length and intensity of the sparring before the stretching. Aethyta stays down when she feels Shiala repositioning, willing to take the loss on this particular round in exchange for a couple more moments to get her heart rate down. Shiala’s weight lifts off her back and she feels one muscular thigh entwine itself with one of her legs, trapping her lower body; at the same time,  one strong arm wraps under her neck and across her torso. 

 

“This is going to hurt, isn’t it,” Aethyta says dryly. Shiala places her free hand on Aethyta’s hip. 

 

“It might,” she says against the back of Aethyta’s neck. “Breathe in.” Doing her best not to tense up in anticipation, Aethyta takes a deep breath. “And out.” As she exhales, Shiala applies pressure on her far hip to keep it flush with the floor, and then pushes her shoulder up and away from the mat, twisting her torso. 

 

“Fuuuck,” Aethyta says, a low and guttural groan in response to the stretching, the rough and ruthless hands manipulating her body, the thigh pinning her own, the warmth of Shiala lined up against her. 

 

“Relax. You’re doing really well. Another deep breath in for me.” Aethyta feels herself shake a little as she breathes in. She can’t help it. “Good. And out.” And then as she breathes out, Shiala pushes the stretch, twisting Aethyta’s shoulders further.

 

“ _ Fuck _ , Shiala,” Aethyta gasps, as her back sings out with taut pain. 

 

“Shh,” she says in reply, unwavering, keeping Aethyta in the stretch, “relax into it. I know you can. Just let go.” Unprompted, Aethyta takes a deep breath in, and tries to expel the tension from her body as she breathes it back out again. “Good,” Shiala murmurs, “that’s it,” and stretches her just a little bit more. “And we’re going to hold it for five… four… three… two… one.” As Shiala gently returns Aethyta back to a comfortable resting position, the rebelliousness Aethyta clung to so vehemently moments ago seems to simply evaporate from her body. 

 

Can Shiala tell? She must be able to, because she switches over to Aethyta’s other side without any dire warnings or the sort of alacrity Aethyta would expect if she were anticipating resistance. Still, she takes Aethyta’s leg in her own and pins her hip with one hand as she stretches out her other shoulder, keeping her firmly trapped even if there’s no cruelty in her imprisonment. 

 

“You’re doing so well. Relax and breathe in.” She might as well just let it happen, Aethyta rationalizes, taking a deep breath and surrendering to Shiala’s ministrations. As she breathes out and allows the matron to contort her body and stretch her aching muscles, the texture of the mats against her forehead seems to come into sharp detail, one note of a three part harmony ringing out in concert with the open-mouthed gasping pain of the stretch and the thrumming heat of contact between their thighs. 

 

Shiala is methodical, asking her to breathe in and out deeply three times, pushing the stretch a little more with each cycle. By the time she’s finished with stretching out Aethyta’s lower back and shoulders, the pain and the words of encouragement have sunk Aethyta into a buzzing, floating place of surrender. Shiala draws away and, perhaps testing the depth of Aethyta’s state of mind, says:

 

“Onto your back again for me.” Aethyta complains with a wordless grunt, but does as she’s told and flips over without any theatrics this time. She’s done her due diligence in terms of proving herself - and anyways, the way Shiala smiles down her her, like she’s genuinely proud of her, is comforting and pleasant. Her face gets hot, but she refuses to believe she’s blushing. 

 

“Get on with it,” she grunts, averting her eyes from that too-sincere smile. Goddess, it’s like looking directly at the sun. 

 

Shiala gets down on her knees between Aethyta’s legs, and picks up one leg by the ankle and hefts it up onto her shoulder. Aethyta dares a glance down, looking at Shiala as she leans forward, bringing Aethyta’s leg up with her. Her hands come up and adjust the direction of Aethyta’s foot, pointing her toes towards her torso, and it’s that little adjustment that has Aethyta moaning again with complaint. 

 

“Relax,” Shiala reminds her again, voice firm. Aethyta is swimming in the agony, breathing through the pain, guided by Shiala’s steady flow of instructions. One, two, three cycles of blossoming pain that runs from her ankle through her calf and all the way down to her thighs and glutes. “You’re doing so well. Just remember to breathe.” And then the other leg, the same thing.

 

Three cycles of breathing in and out, each pushing the stretch further and further until she’s bent more than she thought was possible. When Shiala settles her foot back on the mats and declares they’re done, Aethyta is positively floating. She reaches for Shiala, grabs her by her shirt and pulls her in close, and kisses her. 

 

“Thank you, Captain,” Aethyta murmurs dreamily, when she pulls away. Shiala touches their foreheads together. 

 

“My pleasure.” Aethyta has the sense that if they weren’t out in the gym where - theoretically - any of the household could walk in and see a moment of intimacy, Shiala would be a little more demonstrative. “Join me in the shower?” 

 

“Sounds good.” Aethyta watches Shiala hop up to standing with a grace that serves as a reminder that she was once a gymnast, and then accepts the offered hand so she can be hauled to her feet a little less gracefully. 

 

“You alright?” Shiala checks in, a hand on her arm. 

 

“M’good,” Aethyta confirms, shaking herself a little to try to get her brain and body working again. “Let’s go get that shower.” It’s not a terribly long walk, from the gym up to the ensuite bathroom, and it feels like Aethyta’s barely blinked before she’s standing outside the shower and Shiala’s got her fingers under the edge of Aethyta’s top, grazing sweaty skin. 

 

“May I?” She murmurs. Aethyta’s briefly overcome with a surge of affection for her. She leans forward and kisses her, happily drained and feeling light and airy with endorphins. Shiala hums happily into the kiss, and is wearing one of her reserved smiles when Aethyta pulls away again. “That’s not an answer,” she says, still with that little smile. 

 

“It means yes,” Aethyta chuckles, raising her arms so that Shiala can pull the shirt up and over her head. The air between them is warm and satisfied as they peel each others’ workout clothes off, both of them riding the high of their afternoon’s exertion. Shiala reaches into the shower to turn on the water and Aethyta’s eyes slide idly to her bare ass. Begging for a playful little smack, she is, bent over like that, but Aethyta’s too worn out to do anything but reach over and cup that inviting curve with one hand and enjoy the sound of Shiala’s half-startled little laugh. She comes back to Aethyta, close enough that their chests brush, and kisses her before saying:

 

“You  _ must _ be exhausted. That’s the weakest grab I’ve ever felt.” Her eyes have eased back to their usual green, but they seem to sparkle with laughter. Aethyta wraps her arms around Shiala and takes a buttock in each hand, giving both a solid squeeze before crushing a rough kiss against Shiala’s mouth. She feels the matron exhale into the greedy, domineering grasp, feels her become pliable and eager against her palms. Tired though she is, Shiala softening in her hands stirs the glowing coals of her desire, and she backs her up against the countertop. Her mind starts to wake back up, starts to propose ways of getting revenge for the stretching. Shiala hums into the hungry kisses and lightly places a palm on Aethyta’s collar bone - just enough pressure to make her pause. 

 

“After we shower,” Shiala says, affectionate but firm. 

 

“Do we have to?” Aethyta murmurs, brushing her thumb over Shiala’s hip bone, trying to tempt her. 

 

“Shower first,” she insists, with a kiss to Aethyta’s neck and a little push. 

 

“Fine,” Aethyta concedes, grinning and backing up to allow Shiala to escape from between her and the counter. A shower  _ does  _ sound nice. As she walks past Aethyta, Shiala grabs her by the wrist and pulls her into the shower with just enough forcefulness that a thrill rushes up her spine. 

 

The water is hot - just a smidgeon hotter than she likes it, so it must be Shiala’s setting, not Benezia’s. When Benezia had this enormous custom shower installed a few years ago, Aethyta had scoffed at the luxury. Now, well. She’s had enough proof of concept to accept the value of a shower that easily holds three people. 

 

The heat and the steam and the pounding of the water immediately begin the good work of easing loose her aching muscles. Shiala reaches for the soap dispenser on the wall and fills her hands with sweet-smelling foam. 

 

“Turn around,” Shiala instructs, and Aethyta is apparently back to that place where she doesn’t question being bossed around, because she does as she’s told without a peep of complaint. And how could she complain, when Shiala’s soapy hands descend on her shoulders to rub the aches and knots away with her strong fingers? Aethyta closes her eyes to better enjoy the sensation; pure pleasure, and none of the pain. The soap and water are as good as massage oil, and Shiala’s hands glide and rub and press and circle and dig. 

 

They have few words for each other, not in this dark place of steam and strong hands and simple, physical shows of affection. Shiala’s hands go lower, finding and relieving tension in Aethyta’s lower back, in her thighs, in her hips. Aethyta can do nothing but bask in her attention, hoping that it never ends. Shiala cleans as well as massages, and Aethyta’s breath hitches as Shiala presses herself bodily against her, Shiala’s front to Aethyta’s back, and gently scrubs her with soap from throat to breasts to loins. Even when Aethyta gasps gently at her touch, Shiala only ghosts her lips against Aethyta’s neck and continues washing her, thorough and affectionate. 

 

There is love in her every movement here, Aethya knows, even if they’ve never said the words to each other. How can she not know, with the reverence of Shiala’s caretaking, the vulnerability of her expression when caught by an over-the-shoulder glance. 

 

It’s different with Shiala, different in a way that makes Aethyta stumble over the idea of saying the words “I love you” out loud. It would be true, of course - there is so much to love in this dedicated, understated, quietly clever warrior of theirs - but Aethyta’s mind veers from the line of thought the moment it appears. 

 

Eventually, she thinks, eventually. When the time is right. 

 

Without words, Shiala rinses her off. She touches a kiss to Aethyta here and there as she goes, as if marking her completion - the inside of an elbow, the curve of a crest, the mountain range of bumpy knuckles. Clean, clean, clean. When she’s done with Aethyta, she quickly and efficiently scrubs herself down and rinses off, and then shuts off the shower. 

 

“Still want to make good on that promise?” Shiala asks, the first time she’s spoken since they climbed into the shower. Aethyta blinks, dazed. 

 

“What promise?” 

 

Shiala quirks a laughing smile at her, like this is funny. 

 

“Of what might come after the shower?”

 

“Oh,” Aethyta says, stepping out into the bathroom and feeling like she’s waking up from cryostasis after five hundred years asleep, “Sure. Maybe after a nap.”

 

“Only if you’re feeling in the mood,” Shiala says, as she gingerly takes a towel to Aethyta’s dripping body and dries her off. If she weren’t so dazed she might protest at being treated this way, but in this specific circumstance… it’s kind of nice. She catches Shiala, puts a hand to her jaw, and kisses her for one long, sweet note. 

 

“Thank you, Captain,” Aethyta says again, acknowledging her vulnerability, the mental state that Shiala has so thoroughly and carefully put her in, knowing that she’s safe. Shiala smiles - one of her rare unfettered smiles - and brushes her knuckles along Aethyta’s jaw. 

 

“You did well today,” she saids, her voice authoritative and kind. It makes Aethyta feel soft on the inside in a way she’s not entire sure would have been possible without five rounds of intense hand to hand combat first. “You deserved something nice.” 

 

Something nice. Hell of a way to put it. 

 

“Come on. Let’s get you into bed.” 

 

They’re snuggled up for no longer than thirty seconds when the door to the bedroom opens at Benezia enters. 

 

“Hey babe,” Aethyta croaks, then frowns when she sees Benezia’s expression. “What’s wrong?” 

 

“I thought I’d be asking you that. The second I got off my conference call I found out you two had been fighting in the gym, and that after people left there was a lot of swearing and screams of pain.” Shiala looks properly ashamed, but Aethyta can only press her forehead against Shiala’s breastbone and laugh.

 

“Don’t you laugh at me, I thought I was going to have to break up a fight.” Oh shit, she actually sounds genuinely upset. 

 

“Everything’s fine, Nezzy,” Aethyta says, sobering up and forcing herself to sit up in bed. “We were just stretching.”

 

“Stretching?” Benezia repeats, crossing the room with a severity that has dissolved by the time she reaches the bedside and gets a good look at her lovers, languid and curled around each other. 

 

“She’s got very tight hip flexors,” Shiala says in her own defense, a little sprinkle of mischief in her tone. Benezia’s not entirely happy about the fighting, even sparring, of course, because she never is, but it seems like she can’t stay angry when they’re both in such good spirits. Aethyta pulls aside the covers and says, 

 

“But hey, look what I can do now,” and - with only a little difficulty - puts her leg up beside her head. At last, Benezia can’t help but laugh. 

 

“What am I going to do with you,” she says, shaking her head. 

 

“You could join us,” Shiala offers, in her soft, sly way, and Aethyta feels a tug somewhere inside herself at the truth of the matter: she loves Shiala, and there’s no pretending otherwise. 

 

“You’re impossible,” Benezia says, and slides into bed with them. 


	3. Worship

**Part Three**

**Worship**

 

Benezia is playing footsie under the dinner table tonight. 

 

The very tip of her toe, encased in an elegant shoe, traces a long line from Shiala’s ankle to her knee. Shiala tries not to choke on her water. 

 

She makes the mistake of glancing over and making eye contact, and the searing look Benezia gives her makes her feel like she’s been melted to her stylish, ergonomic, unstainable seat. Just the very edge of Benezia’s lip curls up, asymmetrical, subtle, predatory. 

 

Shiala knows to her very core what this means for the mood Benezia’s going to be in, tonight. Whatever authority she’s flaunted with her two partners over the last few days, it dissolves instantaneously when exposed to that expression on Benezia’s face. 

 

She looks over to Aethyta, who is nowhere near as subtle, and the older matriarch is smirking, sprawled in her seat like a mercenary deliberately flashing a gun in a seedy bar. This is alarming too, because it means that both of them are in the same mood, and possibly have made plans. 

 

A shiver races up Shiala’s back. She’s not much of a schemer - she follows a predetermined set of choreographed and pre-approved moves, or else she improvises in the moment and listens to her partner’s reactions. Deliberately planning an ambush is something she’s capable of as a commando, but not so much as a lover. 

 

“Gotta say, I’m feeling awfully tired tonight,” Aethyta drawls, sounding anything but tired. She’s still smirking. “Might just go to bed early.” She looks meaningfully at Shiala, and heat rushes to Shiala’s face. Everybody at the table is going to know exactly what’s going on here. Aethyta’s not trying to be even a little bit discreet. She stares at her plate, which she’s already emptied, and tries not to think about the disciples and the bodyguards in the room who are probably all staring. The embarrassment is almost enough to make her want to retreat to her own bedroom for the evening, which she has kept as an option even after all these years for when she longs for solitude or feels Aethyta and Benezia might benefit from some privacy. 

 

But the promise of Benezia’s toetip tracing lightly up and down her shin dissuades her from that notion. She’d be punishing herself as much as she’d be punishing them. 

 

“Now, love,” Benezia purrs across the table at Aethyta, “You wouldn’t dream of missing dessert.” Shiala’s face can’t possibly get any hotter, can it? Her tongue feels swollen, like it’s glued to the roof of her mouth. Is there even anything she can say to put a stop to these two when they’re in this mood? “You’ll have dessert, won’t you, Shiala?” Oh, fuck. She needs to unstick her tongue, pronto. 

 

“I - y - certainly,” she stammers. She catches the sound of Musahir badly stifling laughter. She makes a mental note to run her ragged on the sparring mats tomorrow. Oh, and damn it all, she’s thinking about the mats with Aethyta the other day, and the fighting and the stretching and the promise of the revenge, the promise that Aethyta would - 

 

“Actually,” Shiala blurts, standing up abruptly and looking over all of their heads, “Please forgive me as I have a stomach ache, and must lie down immediately. Thank you for the food.” She turns in place and marches off to the stairs, making  it all the way to the landing before she slows down, and then once she’s there she groans and presses the heels of her hands against her eyes. She’s never going to live this down. 

 

Aethyta is upon her almost instantly, and the speed with which she appears makes Shiala think, at first, that Aethyta is about to crush her up against the wall and start kissing her. But no, she’s frowning. 

 

“Y’alright?” she grunts, concern written clearly on her face. 

 

“Oh,” Shiala says, rubbing her mouth, embarrassed twofold. “My stomach is actually fine.”

 

“I know  _ that _ ,” Aethya snorts. “You’re a worse liar than a Vorcha with a losing hand. You’re upset.” At this, Shiala frowns. Is she really that transparent? She doesn’t want to have to say out loud that she doesn’t want the other bodyguards to tease her. It seems like a juvenile concern. 

 

“It’s fine.” 

 

“It’s not.” 

 

“It’s - they’re all going to  _ know _ ,” she whispers. Aethyta’s brow furrows. 

 

“They’ve all known for years. What’s there to get flustered about?” 

 

“Don’t you play innocent,” Shiala retorts, half playful and half genuinely frustrated. “You were trying to make me flustered on purpose, both of you.”

 

“I would say we were succeeding,” Benezia says, appearing on the stairs, “not merely trying. Shall we finish this discussion in the bedroom?” This seems like an entirely rational suggestion to Shiala, and so they move the conversation the rest of the way up the stairs and behind a closed door. 

 

“I’m sorry, love,” Benezia says, as soon as their privacy is secured, “I got a little carried away. It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable.” 

 

“It’s fine, really it is,” Shiala says, now more embarrassed to have made a scene than to have been exposed for the salacious crime of being flirted with by her partners of ten years. She takes Benezia’s hand and runs her thumb along the matriarch’s smooth, unblemished knuckles to try to reassure her.  “I just got a little too into my own head, is all.” 

 

“And what’s happening in that head of yours, darling?” Benezia asks, gently enough that it almost passes as an innocent question. Shiala feels herself blushing again. Aethyta comes up behind her, settles a hand on her hip silently. Trapped between the two of them, Shiala finds she’s thoroughly tongue-tied. 

 

“Uh,” she starts, and struggles to continue. 

 

“We can make you tell us, you know,” Aethyta purrs, thumb stroking possessively along Shiala’s hip bone; the matron swallows. Where is the version of Shiala that so effortlessly manhandled Aethyta into the state she wanted her? Gone somewhere deep inside of her, hibernating until the storm of these two matriarchs at the top of their game has passed. 

 

“Would you like that?” Benezia asks, echoing Aethyta’s tone, touching Shiala’s face decadently. They skipped dessert, she realizes, the both of them. 

 

Ah. She  _ is _ dessert. 

 

“An answer, sweetheart,” Benezia says, grazing a nail across Shiala’s lower lip as if she’s going to lure the words out with the promise of her nimble fingers. She has to blink a few times to center herself. 

 

“I’m sorry, what was the question again?” Her cheeks feel warm enough to cook on. 

 

“Haven’t even started and you’re already a mess,” Aethyta chuckles, grip tightening a little on her waist. 

 

“Are you in the mood to be played with tonight, pet?” Benezia asks, pointedly. She’s smiling, and there’s dark promise and excitement in her eyes, but Shiala feels confident there would be no hurt feelings if she turned them down. 

 

“Oh, I suppose so,” she mock-grumbles, a little smile tugging at her lips. Shiala leans back easily into the warmth of Aethyta’s body, just so, and Aethyta closes the rest of the distance between them. The rugged matriarch’s solid sternum is wonderfully dependable against the press of Shiala’s shoulders; she feels her discomfort with the public teasing bleed away, her lovers’ sincere concern a balm and a reassurance. Watching Benezia’s face, Shiala can see a reflection of the same thing happening within her: a releasing of tension when it’s clear no harm has been done. 

 

“You’re sure?” Benezia murmurs, stroking Shiala’s face and letting her fingertips linger just so on Shiala’s jawline.

 

“Yes, love,” Shiala says, the affirmation tender and vulnerable. Benezia smiles, leans in to kiss her. 

 

“I’d like you to call me Matriarch tonight, darling,” Benezia purrs, low and dangerous, and as those three syllables slip from her tongue they penetrate Shiala with such force that she inhales sharply, audibly. They don’t play with this much, the unspoken distance between them in age and rank. It’s a taboo; one as delicious and thrilling as any illegal substance, and one she knows she’s already deeply addicted to, regardless of how she might protest to herself that it’s inappropriate to fetishize. 

 

“Yes, Matriarch,” Shiala exhales shakily. She knows it must be showing in her eyes. 

 

“And me,” Aethyta says lustily from behind Shiala, the wonderful wall of muscle against which Benezia has her pressed. Shiala swallows.

 

“Yes, Matriarch,” she says again, the repetition pulling her deeper into the forbidden fantasy. 

 

“You’ll shower, first,” Benezia says, imperious. As she makes this proclamation, she takes Shiala’s chin and turns her head from side to side, as if finding her unworthy. “And I’ll be watching to ensure you don’t miss anything. Am I understood, pet?”

 

“Yes, Matriarch,” Shiala says, nearly choking on her own arousal. 

 

“Good. Off you go, then.” At the command, Aethyta and Benezia both draw away and wait for Shiala to make the journey of a dozen steps to the washroom. Summoning the brain cells required to perform this action, Shiala starts towards the shower, only to be interrupted. “Pet,” Benezia says, with unwavering strictness, and Shiala freezes, looks back over her shoulder at her lover. Benezia has her arms crossed; she’s wearing the slow burning expression that she usually saves for people who have genuinely infuriated her, and Shiala’s gut reacts to it with a sharp twist of helpless thrill. “You won’t be needing those clothes, and you should know better than to discard them in the bathroom.”

 

“Yes, Matriarch,” Shiala says, bowing her head instinctively, already fumbling at her clothes, “I’m sorry, Matriarch.” 

 

“You are forgiven, pet,” Benezia says, watching Shiala undress with inscrutable interest. Tremors of anticipation roll across Shiala’s skin as she obediently sheds her layers, folding each item as she goes and creating a neat stack on the dresser. When she comes at last to her underwear, she pauses - embarrassed - before pulling them down. She sees Aethyta smirking in the mirror at the sight of her wetness exposed. If she’s expecting some comment - teasing from Aethyta, perhaps, or even from Benezia - she’s disappointed. They watch in silence as Shiala bares herself to them, and when she lingers there awaiting feedback, Benezia only waves a hand towards the bathroom. 

 

The aloof persona quickly has slick heat garnishing the insides of Shiala’s thighs. There’s no denying the appeal of this game. She walks to the shower and the pair follow her, setting themselves up comfortably on the edge of the large tub across from the shower so they can watch through the glass doors. Aethyta sits first, and then Benezia places herself elegantly on the older Matriarch’s sturdy lap. Shiala gets an eyeful of Benezia’s slinky dress; the slit up the side exposes one long azure calf as she crosses her legs. 

 

Shower, shower. She needs to focus. Needs to get herself completely clean for the demanding pair of Matriarchs. Her elders. Her superiors. Shiala shivers despite the heat of the water, and sets herself to the task of scrubbing herself from head to toe as quickly and efficiently as she can. She can feel the pair’s eyes on her, and when she sneaks a glance out at them Aethyta has a hand up Benezia’s dress and her gaze locked hungrily on Shiala’s body. 

 

It has to be the most furiously Shiala has ever showered in her life. 

 

When Shiala turns off the water, Benezia peels herself away from Aethyta and makes eye contact with Shiala just long enough to show her that her eyes are dark with desire. 

 

“You know what I want, darling,” Benezia says to Aethyta, and then strolls back out into the bedroom. Aethyta is waiting with her arms crossed when Shiala emerges from the shower. 

 

“Feet together,” Aethyta commands, without ceremony, “arms out.” Shiala obeys, reeling from the heat of her words, and presents herself to Aethyta’s specifications. Aethyta runs her rough hands along Shiala’s body, inspecting her as one might inspect livestock. Shiala’s skin is sensitive after the shower and the scrubbing, and being handled and touched with impersonal scrutiny has her heart racing and mind softening to blissful obedience within moments. 

 

Aethyta runs her fingers along shoulders, biceps, forearms, wrists, palms, along neck and clavicle and breast and nipple and ribs and stomach and hips. She’s like a potential buyer at a used shipyard, using her palms to seek out any dents or flaws in a sheet metal panel that might be hidden by paint. 

 

“Spread your legs,” the Matriarch orders. Here at last a smirk flickers on her face, smug at the sight of Shiala opened wide and dripping with her eagerness. Her hands resume their work, a familiar motion - checking the insides of thighs for concealed weapons - made intimate and sexual. Shiala is trembling by the time Aethyta is done. “Acceptable,” she grunts, straightening up again. “Come on, then.” 

 

Shiala feels drunk, almost, as she staggers after Aethyta and into the bedroom. Benezia is waiting for them in the little armchair in the corner where she likes to read in private sometimes. Tonight, there is no book in her hands. 

 

“Come, pet,” Benezia commands, and Shiala crosses the room like there is a thread running from her clit to Benezia’s hands and she’s just given that thread a severe tug. When she reaches Benezia, she lowers herself without prompting, going on hands and knees at her lover’s feet, pressing her forehead to the soft carpet. 

 

“Aren’t you sweet,” Benezia says, and Shiala’s body comes alight at the praise.

 

“Thank you, Matriarch,” she whispers to the floor, the words an urgent prayer. She doesn’t dare rise, but she can see the graceful arch of Benezia’s ankle from her peripherals. Goddess, how she longs to kiss that ankle, to murmur her adoration up and down the smooth length of that shin and worship at the altar of Benezia’s body. To give in, utterly and completely, to the way it makes her feel when Benezia allows her to express her admiration, when she allows  _ herself _ to feel the depth of her adoring devotion. But she mustn't move; she hasn’t been told to do those things, and so of course she won’t. 

 

“You’re too close to your Matriarch,” Aethyta growls, a booted toetip coming under her forehead, forcing her head up, pushing her back. With a whimper, Shiala crawls back away from Benezia by about a foot and a half, pushed by Aethyta’s rubber sole. “Show some respect,” she says, crouching down beside Shiala and grabbing her under the chin and at the waist at the same time, lifting her so that she’s on hands and knees, the comforting solidity of the floor no longer pressed to her chest. “We expect to be able to see you.” That booted foot comes between Shiala’s legs, kicks them apart with just an ounce more force than is necessary; Shiala gasps as once again she’s positioned to be better visible. 

 

“Much better, pet,” Benezia contributes, and unfolds her legs from beneath her, stretches them out and settles her heels happily against Shiala’s bare back. Shiala is processing the enormity of the way this makes her feel when Aethyta chuckles. 

 

“Have a look at that, love,” Aethyta says to Benezia. “She  _ likes _ being a footrest.” 

 

“It’s true, isn’t it pet?”

 

“Yes, Matriarch,” Shiala pants, wondering if she’ll be in trouble for dripping on the carpet but knowing for a fact that now she absolutely must not move. “I live to serve you.”

 

“Mmm,” Benezia hums, the sound full of throaty approval. “You do have a skill for making yourself useful.” 

 

Shiala hears the sound of Aethyta’s heavy footfalls, muffled by the carpet, as she walks about. What follows is the tinkle of ice in crystal, the splash of a liquid poured into a glass. She wants to look, but doesn’t dare - the slightest shift in her body might jostle Benezia’s feet, and that would be unacceptable. Shiala watches the floor and focuses her breathing, bringing her body to perfect stillness, perfect compliance, perfect obedience. 

 

“Don’t flinch,” Aethyta warns, and there’s a flutter of touch on Shiala’s lower back before something shockingly cold touches her skin. Shiala keens with surprise and the challenge of keeping still through the sensation. “Good,” Aethyta growls, “hold that for me, will you?” A full body shiver threatens to throw off her rigid position, and Shiala has to consciously untense various muscles in her body to accommodate the unpleasant chill of the heavy glass balanced on her back next to the warmth of Benezia’s crossed ankles. 

 

“Don’t you drop that, pet,” Benezia says. “That bottle of brandy cost more than your annual salary.” She’s as severe as she is amused by Shiala’s predicament, and Shiala has to swallow hard before she can splutter out an answering  _ yes, Matriarch _ . 

 

“Engage that core, soldier,” Aethyta remarks, the laughter in her voice apparent. “Don’t go getting lazy on me.” Shiala whimpers, tries to clear her mind and focus on maintaining a perfectly flat back. Beside her, Benezia makes a pleased noise, and she has to fight through another shiver. “You should feel lucky just to be touched by my bondmate’s feet,” Aethyta says. 

 

“I’m - I’m very grateful, Matriarch,” Shiala murmurs, her concentration pulled taut, her mind a mess of complicated longing and simple submission. Aethyta gives her a brief reprieve when she lifts the glass of brandy off of Shiala’s back to take a sip from it, but it only lasts a moment before she replaces it in the same spot. 

 

“Mmm, Nezzy,” Aethyta says, “you’re so beautiful when you’re being wicked.” Shiala wishes she could see them both, wishes she could see what Aethyta is seeing, but she has a job: she has to hold perfectly still. 

 

“Come and show me how beautiful you think I am, then, love,” Benezia purrs in reply, her feet shifting on Shiala’s back, ankles uncrossing. 

 

“I thought you’d never ask,” Aethyta says. “Open your mouth, Shiala.” And then those are Aethyta’s fingers at her lips, and without any resistance Shiala parts them for the old warrior. “Might as well make use of you while you’re here,” Aethyta chuckles. “Nice and wet now.” Shiala moans around the calloused fingers, gliding her tongue around them, offering Aethyta everything her mouth has to give while staying conscious of the weight of the glass of brandy on her back. Aethyta exhales a shuddering sound that Shiala knows means she’s enjoying herself even if she’s pretending to be tough, and Shiala doubles her enthusiasm as heated prickles race from her shoulders to her knees. She knows she’s done well when Aethyta lingers, seems reluctant to draw herself away, and only does so with a low groan. 

 

Still, Aethyta  _ does _ leave, returning to Benezia’s side just out of Shiala’s range of vision. Benezia’s heels against Shiala’s back spread apart further, and a moment later Benezia gasps. Shiala fights to keep her back straight, to keep her mind on the glass of brandy instead of on the thought of Aethyta’s fingers sliding deep inside of Benezia. Shiala can hear them kissing, hear Benezia’s breath catching as Aethyta does whatever she’s doing, can feel the pulse of their bodies through the meager contact of Benezia’s heels resting on her back. It brings her back decades in time, to when she had no hope or expectation of ever being part of this dynamic, to moments when she would accidentally intrude on the two of them or overhear their lovemaking - and it brings to the forefront of her mind the urge towards voyeurism she’d had to fight every time.

 

Well, now she has no choice but to be an audience for their passion. As Benezia’s voice becomes shakier, needier under Aethyta’s touch, Shiala tries desperately to manage her own shaky breathing. Benezia’s feet rock against Shiala in time with what the rest of her body must be doing, and it’s all Shiala can do to keep herself stable enough that the movement doesn’t topple the neglected glass and spill expensive brandy all over the nice carpet. Benezia whispers sultry, gasping words of encouragement to Aethyta, and Shiala, the trapped eavesdropper, feels her body reacting to the words with needy twists of heat. 

 

Goddess, her back and core are starting to ache. Still, she wishes she could stay like this forever. The strain was nothing at first, but the steady encroach of muscle exhaustion is nothing to be scoffed at. Shiala’s starting to wonder if she actually  _ can _ keep still much longer. But she has to, she  _ has to _ , she can’t fail her Matriarchs. Failure isn’t an option. 

 

“That’s it,” Aethyta grunts, victorious, and the trembling of Benezia’ legs increases, sings tenor in harmony with the bone-deep baritone shake of Shiala’s determined but faltering body. “Goddess you’re hot, Nezzy. Come on. Almost there. Come for me.” Aethyta’s urging - and, undoubtedly, her hands - push Benezia over the edge. Shiala is unbearably turned on, at the limit of what she can stand in every way. 

 

_ Be good, hold position _ , is her internal mantra through it all, as Benezia cries out at the height of her climax.  _ Be good, hold position. _ Her lower back is burning, her stomach - normally solid as steel - is shaking. Her shoulders, too, have started to scream with pain. She can’t take much more, but the thought of that priceless liquor toppling to the bedroom floor keeps Shiala pushing to hang on just a little longer. 

 

“You’re so gorgeous when you come,” Aethyta is saying. Benezia withdraws her feet from Shiala’s back, and that’s it, that’s it, she can’t take anymore. 

 

“ _ Please _ ,” she blurts, desperate and quaking, “please Matriarch - I can’t - the brandy - I can’t hold it, I’m sorry - !” She doesn’t know if her entreaties are directed at Aethyta or Benezia, but it doesn’t matter; she’s broken now, and she only has a few seconds before she knows she’ll collapse. When at long last the cold glass is removed, Shiala crumples to the floor. “I’m sorry,” she starts to say, immediately, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry Matriarch, I’m sorry - “

 

But there are hands pulling her into an embrace, arms wrapped lovingly around her. 

 

“It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s okay,” Benezia reassures, cupping Shiala’s face and kissing her brow with tender vehemence. “You did the right thing.”

 

“You did great,” Aethyta confirms, wrapping herself around Shiala’s trembling body, soothing the frantic murmur of her heart by holding her tightly. 

 

“I couldn’t hold it,” Shiala whimpers, blinking through the tears that have suddenly sprung to her eyes. 

 

“You did the right thing,” Benezia repeats, smoothing the tears away, kissing the trails they leave behind. “You were so very good. You did exactly what you should have done. You asked for help when it was too much. We love you, darling. We want you to tell us when it’s too much.” 

 

“I’m not in trouble?” Shiala asks quietly, panic subsiding as her lovers envelope her in their warmth. 

 

“No, you’re not in trouble,” Aethyta says, rubbing Shiala’s limbs with a touch so gentle, so sweet, it couldn’t be further from the post-shower inspection in tone. Aethyta mostly leaves the talking to Benezia, but she never stops touching Shiala, running reassuring caresses over any part of her that shakes still. 

 

“You’re safe with us, love,” Benezia says, their faces so close their foreheads touch. “You’ve been so incredible, and we’re so proud of you. You don’t have to break yourself to prove your dedication. We know it, and we’re so lucky to have you.” Shiala’s breathing calms, her heart slows, and she reaches for Benezia to pull her in closer, longing to be pressed between their bodies. Benezia answers the unspoken request without hesitation, and after a few heartbeats like this, Shiala has recovered, pulled back from the precipice of her own deep-seated fear of failure. 

 

“I really didn’t want to spill that brandy,” she murmurs, after she’s collected herself a little. 

 

“It was water,” Aethyta confesses, nuzzling her face against Shiala’s shoulder. Shiala can’t help but laugh at that. 

 

“You sadistic - ,” Shiala splutters, face splitting into an astonished grin as she searches for an appropriate curse to lob in their direction, tripping over several Elcor words before huffing: “ -  _ jerks _ .” Aethyta laughs heartily at the rubber bullet of an insult. 

 

“Makes you a masochist,” Aethyta replies, a sparkle of smug revenge in her tone. “You  _ were _ actually enjoying yourself though, weren’t you?” she follows up, the question softened with real concern. 

 

“I was,” Shiala says, still grinning. 

 

“Good,” Benezia says, pulling back just enough to cradle Shiala’s jaw in her palm. “That was the idea, you know.” Shiala turns her head to kiss the flesh of Benezia’s thumb. 

 

“I suppose turnabout is fair play,” Shiala murmurs. 

 

The three of them stay like that a while longer, tangled on the floor of the bedroom with Shiala wrapped up in the middle of the pile. 

 

“So,” Aethyta says impishly, once they’ve all had a chance to catch their breath, “are you up to getting to the part of the night where we reward you for how good to us you’ve been?” Shiala shudders; it’s a good kind of shudder. 

 

“What did you have in mind?” She asks, the beginnings of heat returning to her face. The idea of continuing the scene is exciting, but she’s not sure how much more of the intense roleplay she can take. Shiala doesn’t cry much; even the flashfire surge of emotional tears after she thought she’d failed their test has left her feeling a little drained. Cathartic, yes, but not a mental place she’s sure she wants to travel to more than once in an evening. 

 

“What if we bent you over the edge of the bed,” Aethyta purrs, a hand on Shiala’s thigh, “and fucked you the way you so clearly want to be fucked?” Shiala inhales a gasping breath. It’s simple, it’s carnal, and it’s very, very appealing. 

 

“Can I still call you Matriarch?” Shiala asks, feeling herself blushing and unable to make eye contact with either of them.

 

“You may,” Benezia answers, and the hint of power in her voice sends a new surge of desire through Shiala. 

 

“That sounds… like fun, then,” Shiala says, definitely blushing now. 

 

“Look me in the eye, pet,” Benezia commands. Shiala does, and inhales sharply when their gazes lock and she sees the pure black of unadulterated lust in over lover’s eyes. “Tell me you want to be fucked.” 

 

“Please, Matriarch,” Shiala breathes shakily, “I - “ she swallows her embarrassment, “I want to be fucked.” Behind her, Aethyta chuckles; the older Matriarch slides a finger down against Shiala’s clit and dips down between her folds, and Shiala whimpers, flush with vulnerable arousal. 

 

“There’s no hiding it,” Aethyta confirms, stroking against the outside of Shiala’s slick vulva while holding her in place with one strong arm. “I think she’s earned her reward,” she says to Benezia, grinning. Shiala’s lips part and a breath escapes her, helpless and needy. It isn’t hard to fall right back into the deep freedom of submissive headspace, not when they’re touching her and talking about her like this. 

 

“Mmm, are you sure she’s ready to take it?” Benezia purrs, leaning forward to touch heated kisses down Shiala’s neck. “Maybe we should make sure she’s nice and warmed up.” Shiala swallows a desperate whine at this remark. Benezia’s mouth finds one of her nipples, and she starts to suck and tease with her teeth at the same time that Aethyta begins firmly drawing circles around Shiala’s clit with two of her fingers. 

 

“Oh, Goddess,” Shiala gasps. 

 

“Well, she’s not begging yet,” Aethyta says, her fingers steady and inescapable and so damn skilled at knowing exactly how much pressure to apply. “She must not want it that badly.” 

 

“Oh, please,” Shiala whispers automatically, “please, Matriarch.” 

 

“Please what?” Aethyta prompts, fingers relentlessly building up the tight, needy pressure inside of Shiala. Benezia switches her mouth over to the other breast and Shiala bucks lightly in Aethyta’s firm grip. 

 

“ _ Please _ , Matriarch,” Shiala keens, “please fuck me.” Benezia chuckles with Shiala’s nipple still between her lips, and even the vibration of that soft sound makes her gasp. As one, both Matriarchs pull away from Shiala rise to standing. 

 

“Over the edge of the bed, pet,” Benezia commands, and Shiala can’t obey fast enough. The sheets pressed against her face, the edge of the mattress against her thighs, Shiala sighs eagerly and relaxes into the position of surrender. The soft, long fingers that touch her hip are definitely Benezia’s - she knows this without needing to look. In their light contact, she can feel the thrum of Benezia’s biotics, and this, too, she knows by feel now. “Be good for me, darling,” Benezia says.

 

“Yes, Matriarch,” Shiala says, pouring the many layers and shades of her devotion into those two words. She exhales, and with the breath she consciously releases the tension held in her muscles, releases herself and leaves her body in the safe hands of her Matriarch. As she feels the buzz of the biotics trickle down the back of her legs and wrap around her ankles, Shiala relinquishes the last of her concerns about performing well enough for her lovers and allows herself to feel nothing but her own arousal and a deep thankfulness for the firm command of them both. 

 

Their dominance is a gift, an opportunity to let go completely for just a little while. It would be hypocritical of her, she supposes, to want to give Aethyta and Benezia that kind of complete relinquishing of stress and propriety without being willing to embrace the same kindness when they offer it. 

 

“Good,” Benezia purrs, as the biotics come tight and take solid form around Shiala’s ankles. Then they’re pulling her apart, spreading her legs wide and then locking them in place at the perfect distance. With a little whimper, Shiala tests the biotic restraints; her ankles will travel no closer together and no further apart. She is spread open on display, ready to receive their reward. Goddess, she’s so wet. 

 

Benezia climbs up onto the bed and sits next to Shiala’s head, running fingers lavishly down sensitive crests. At the same time, Aethyta positions herself behind Shiala, fingers digging a tight, bruising grip into her hips. 

 

“Please,” Shiala says again, the word barely more than a puff of air. She can feel the powerful thrum of Aethyta’s biotics between her thighs; the trick Aethyta likes to use when fingers just aren’t enough. The manifestation of the rugged old Matriarch’s biotic talent is as solid and physical at Shiala’s entrance as Benezia’s biotics are around her ankles, keeping her legs spread. Aethyta groans as she presses inside of Shiala, assuredly riding high on the haptic feedback of the biotics against her own clit. “ _ Fuck _ ,” Shiala groans at the blessedly merciless motion. Aethyta drives into her, fills her up, caresses her from the inside with the skill and sophistication of centuries of practice. 

 

“Just relax and accept your reward, my pet,” Benezia murmurs, running delicate touches up and down the back of Shiala’s neck, teasing at the underside of her crests, exploring, stimulating, adding more fuel to the fire of her arousal. Aethyta begins to thrust into her in earnest, driving in and out of her with the thick hum of the biotics, filling the bedroom with the sound of her own grunting and gasping as she drives her own pleasure with each jerk of her hips. “That’s it, love,” Benezia says, holding Shiala’s head and whispering encouragement while Aethyta fucks her roughly from behind, maintaining the biotic restraints that are keeping her legs apart, “take it from her. Don’t fight the feeling. Let her take you.” 

 

Benezia’s words as much as Aethyta’s ruthless thrusting drive Shiala quickly to a place where her mind is gone, replaced only with an awareness of her body - blissful, pure sensation - and a surrender to the whims of the Matriarchs. Benezia touches her face, talks her deeper into submission, keeps her held in place for Aethyta; Aethyta groans and swears as she claims Shiala with unbridled, undisguised ardor. 

 

The swell of the orgasm claims Shiala with an inexorable tidal wave that she feels coming for what seems like a lifetime before it finally crashes over her and drags her under, the air rushing from her lungs and her eyesight going blurry. Aethyta keeps going, forcing her to endure the tallest height of pleasure for as long as she can stand it, until she finally comes plummeting down, gasping for air, legs jerking and writhing and straining of their own will against the restraints that hold her in place. Her whole body rings with the aftershock, like the piercing, lingering ring after a bomb goes off nearby. Dazed, she can hardly hear her lovers as they speak to her softly and pull her up onto the bed. 

 

Wrapped once more in their embrace, Shiala clings tightly to whatever body happens to be in front of her, and rides out the ebb and flow of the various pleasant chemicals her brain is awash with. She’s vaguely aware of praise being whispered sweetly against her neck; at this she smiles, loose and hazy. All is well, she knows. All is well, and she’s safe here. Safer than she’s ever felt anywhere else, with anyone else. 

 

“Don’t think we don’t know everything you do to take care of us,” Aethyta is saying, her throat raw and her words earnest. There’s a gun-roughed hand on Shiala’s face. She likes it. Aethyta is rarely so tender.

 

“I hope you know how much we appreciate it,” Benezia says, curled close around Shiala’s back, “How much we appreciate  _ you _ .” 

 

“Mmm,” Shiala sighs happily, twining her fingers with Benezia’s where her arm is draped around her. “I’m glad. I’m glad you like it when I try to be useful.”

 

“You’re more than just useful,” Benezia protests lovingly, kissing Shiala’s shoulder. “You’re thoughtful, and attentive, and caring.” 

 

“And what she’s trying to say is,” Aethyta adds, pressing her forehead to Shiala’s, “is that we don’t take it for granted. You hear me?” 

 

“I hear you,” Shiala says, smiling back at her. She tilts her chin and kisses Aethyta, loving the way the tough old asari melts into the contact. They’re both smiling when Shiala pulls away gently and opens her eyes again. 

 

“Good,” Benezia says, and sounds like she means it with every atom of her body. 

 

“Sleep now?” Shiala asks, ready to slide as comfortably into unconsciousness as they’ve managed to slide her under the bedsheets. 

 

“Sleep now,” Benezia confirms, placing one last kiss against Shiala’s back. With a happy sigh, Shiala releases her tenuous grip on proper thought and relaxes into warmth, into safety, into love. 


End file.
